


Bitten

by MoJo_404



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoJo_404/pseuds/MoJo_404
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reworking of Supernatural Ep. 0217 "Heart" as told from Madison's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitten

_The change hurts._

_It starts as pinpricks across your skin, dull and aching, and becomes a fire you can’t put out, sweeping every inch of your body. Your mouth is bleeding where fangs are extending from your gum line and you’re watching your fingernails flake and chip and fall off, replaced by nails an inch long and sharpened to a point. You don’t grow hair on your body and your legs don’t extend to grotesque proportions like a Hollywood standby monster, but you can feel the reason and humanity slipping from you, replaced by cold terror and bloodlust and a feral need to hunt and kill._

_The change hurts._

_But don’t worry. You won’t remember any of this in the morning._

\-------

It’s quiet when I arrive at the office. Given how many drinks Nate had last night, though, I hadn’t imagined things would be very productive today.

“He’s probably dozing at his desk right now…” I think to myself, hoping he’s forgotten all about hitting on me at the bar. That is not a conversation I need to start this day with. Not again, anyway. Sighing, I walk toward the coffee cart. Caffeine is definitely calling to me.

It’s weird that he hasn’t started the coffee maker already, but maybe his hangover is worse than I was expecting.

“Maybe things will stay this quiet all morning,” I hope as I reach to grab the empty pot. I look up at Nate’s office with exhaustion, knowing I’ll have to go wake him as soon as I get settled at my desk.

Then I notice the blood on his door.

“Relax,” I tell myself before panic can set in. “You’re still nervous from seeing Kurt last night. You’ve got sinister on the brain.”

I move forward slowly, trying to settle the panic that’s building inside me.

What if he hurt himself and has been lying here all night? No, he’s probably just sliced his hand on a letter opener, he’s done that before. He’s probably fine. What if he was murdered? Jesus, Madison, calm down. A thousand possibilities run through my mind as I push the door open. This. This was nothing I had imagined. “Murdered” would have been putting it nicely. I see Nate lying across his desk, the office in shambles, blood smeared across the carpet, his chest open and ragged as if torn apart by a wild animal. Confusion, fear. The whirlwind of emotions crash over me in waves as I feel my whole body shaking and the coffee pot slips from my fingers. Fear, confusion. I wonder who to call, what to do. I can’t think clearly with the shrill and incessant screaming ringing suddenly through the entire office, before I realize it’s coming from my own mouth.

\-------

Today was exhausting.

I stand in my kitchen as the moon begins to rise, finally alone, and I can feel the slight soreness in my neck and shoulders as I realize how tensely I’ve been sitting all day. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the support I’ve been shown—everyone has been very comforting and generous. Colleagues have been taking on extra work so I can stay home for a few days; friends and neighbors have been checking in around the clock to make sure I haven’t been too trapped in my own head, as if I’ll start to lose it. Even Glenn brought over a casserole earlier today: his grandma’s recipe. He’s too sweet. I roll my eyes. Nonetheless, there’s something so relieving about finding myself alone at the end of the day. I’ve never been a night person, but strangely I’ve been feeling more myself when the only light in my apartment is coming from the full moon. Staring out the window, my mind switches gears to the detectives, Sam and Dean. They seem very confident in themselves, rolling up ominously in their grumbling black muscle car. I wonder why they came back for a second statement, asking questions about Nate’s life and any enemies he might have had. It’s already been declared that his death was caused by an animal attack, but even I’m not sure if I believe that. There’s no way any wolf could have gotten to the third floor of our office building, and when was the last time anyone saw one in downtown San Francisco anyway? But then I remember the mess, the bite marks, the way Nate’s chest was torn and bloody…

“Stop,” I tell myself aloud. I don’t want to think about that, I’ve been trying so hard to get that image out of my head.

The detectives were nice though. Dean was a bit ostentatious. He clearly has game, and wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was working it. Sam was different - intense and caring. He made me feel safe and comfortable, more than any number of casseroles could. They both seem so protective, like their job is more to keep me safe than to investigate Nate’s death.

I remember their concern when I mentioned how Kurt had been following me since we broke up. “He scares me a little,” I told them. They couldn’t think he had something to do with this, could they? I probably shouldn’t have said that. Kurt was controlling and overbearing, but he wouldn’t go so far as to attack a man for putting moves on me every time he’s had a few drinks. Maybe Sam and Dean seemed so interested because they think Nate’s death was specifically connected to me? Through Kurt, maybe?

I need to stop. I realize my shoulders have gone tense again and I try to relax as I move to my bedroom window. The moon is almost in the middle of the sky and the night air smells fresh. Eyes skirting the lawn, my attention snags on a figure and I feel my heart stop beating.

That was Kurt. Standing on the sidewalk below, half in shadow, looking up at me. He’s gone now, but I’m sure it was him, it was him…was it him?

I crane my neck, looking for any sign of him hiding or walking away, but there’s nobody. I’m at risk of being ripped apart, Nate’s death was linked to me, Kurt’s a murderer and he’s stalking my home. The thoughts swirl through my head and I force myself to calm down.

“You’re becoming paranoid, Maddie. Relax,” I say it out loud, with conviction. The insanity of this week is going to my head.

I breathe in the night air again, and leave the window open: partially because it’s so relaxing, and partially to convince myself that there’s nobody out there, that I’m not afraid of being attacked in my sleep. I climb into bed and force myself to believe it.

Today was exhausting.

\-------

_Alive again. The fire rushes through you while the cool breeze of the night sweeps your skin. You’re roaming, focused on your goal. All of your fear is a distant, hazy memory, replaced by a murderous and instinctive rage—you felt threatened by him before but tonight he’s easy prey. Just around the corner now. You see the concrete wall you have to scale. It doesn’t offer enough grip for your claws, grating away underneath you and keeping him safe._

_He doesn’t deserve to be safe. In a moment you’re there and you’re so close… but a new feeling is washing over you, a new presence, a closer hunt. Your hunger overwhelms you and you’re changing directions. This human is not your intended goal, but he’s right here… and there’s always tomorrow night._

\-------

Sam and Dean are back in my kitchen, hands outstretched to receive the coffee I’m pouring them, and this time they’re asking about Kurt. Really asking.

“Has Kurt been here?” I cock my head, a little suspicious. Maybe they are convinced Kurt killed Nate.

“Well, he was outside last night. Just...looking. Just looking at me.” I watch them exchange a look before asking, “Has he done something?”

“It’s probably nothing, but...we just don’t wanna take any chances,” Dean says. “In fact, one of us should probably stay here with you. Just in case he stops by.” I nod my permission. “Where does he work?”

“He owns a body shop,” I reply.

“You mind grabbing that address for us?” I nod, heading out of the kitchen and into my bedroom where I keep my address book. Flipping through the book, I pause. Should I be more concerned with my safety? If Kurt is involved in all this, what’s to say he won’t make another stop here? A less innocent stop this time? At least one of the officers is willing to stay. Knowing I won’t be alone here certainly makes me feel safer...and they’re not so hard on the eyes either. The least they can do is provide entertainment while I’m not at work.

\-------

Hours and my DVRs entire backlog of my favorite soap have passed, leaving me and Sam seated side by side on my living room couch. He won’t admit it, but he was more hooked on the program than he thought he’d be. The thought makes me smile, imagining a man like him, whose size must inherently intimidate, seated alone in a motel room marathoning my favorite show. As the credits role, Sam interrupts my thoughts, clearing his throat to get my attention.

“You know, can I ask you a question? It’s-it’s a little personal. What were you doing with Kurt?”

His tone gives me pause. Genuine interest in a past relationship is rare...and odd. But then again, he is basically investigating Kurt for murder. I think for a moment before responding.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like he introduced himself, like, ‘Hi, I’m possessive and controlling and I like to punch people. Wanna be my girlfriend?’”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, mine’s wanted by the police.” I consider him. “You wanna know why I stayed with him? Really? I was too insecure to leave.”

“I find that hard to believe. I mean, you don’t really seem like the type.”

“Well, some stuff happened. My life changed, I changed. For the better, I think,” I pause. “I got mugged.”

Sam’s eyes jump back to mine. “And that’s supposed to be a good thing?”

“I know, it sounds strange. And don’t get me wrong, it rattled me. But-then it hit me. I could keep feeling sorry for myself, or I could take control of my life. I chose the latter. First thing I did was tell Kurt he had to go,” I say, turning to Sam with a smile.

Our eyes meet, and he looks like he’s going to reply when his partner calls, giving me an excuse to stand up, distancing myself from the moment. I’ve been cautious since Kurt, but Sam seems sweet. Like he wants to help me. I only hope that if Kurt is involved somehow, Sam doesn’t end up hurt because of me.

\-------

Sam’s watching the full moon intensely when I tell him I’m turning in for the night. For what, I don’t know, but I appreciate the vigilance all the same. I start to leave when he stops me.

Haltingly, Sam says, “You know, if you hear anything, I mean if you wake up, just-just call out.” I acknowledge, turning to close my bedroom door. Behind me, I hear Sam sigh.

\-------

_You wake up, tangled in silk sheets and skin itching, painful, like it’s tearing apart. The window is open, bringing with it that familiar smell - one you lived with, lived through, once already. Not again. The bedroom window is open and you’re climbing out it, running, seeking. The climb inside is easier this time because you’ve scaled it already. With ease you’re in his apartment, hiding, stalking in the dark. He doesn’t know you’re here. You make a game of it: bumping tables, scratching the floor. Noticeable, but always giving yourself time to melt back into the shadows. You can sense his fear, drawing in the scent of sweat and adrenaline once more before attacking. Enough. It’s his turn now._

_In a flash he’s on the floor beneath you, soft skin ripping apart so easily with the strength you now possess. Blood spurts, bubbling up his throat and out of his body as you carve a hole. You’re almost there, so close to that thumping, thumping, thumping thing in his chest, but before you finish the door is bursting open and someone’s yelling._

_The man looks familiar, his height and the weapon in his hand momentarily startling you before you remember you’re more. More strong, more cunning. More. You lunge, throwing him into a wall, the heavy thwack of his head meeting drywall stunning him. You round on him while he’s vulnerable. You’ll have to settle for second best again, you think, before a burning pain in your arm stops you. You’ve knocked his gun away, but he’s holding a knife now, doesn’t look afraid to use it. You glance back at Kurt’s slumped body. It’s not worth it._

_He got his in the end, anyway._

\-------

The sunlight streaming in my open curtains is too bright, prompting me to roll onto my back away from the window. Eyes opening, I see Sam lurking in the doorway, back to me, and I call out a greeting.

“Morning.”

I shift, drawing my legs up closer to my body and sitting up as I revel in the slip-slide of silk on my skin. It’s been a while since I’ve woken up without clothes, though, and I pause, desperately trying to remember what happened last night.

“Um, where are my pajamas?”

I look up, trying to read his face. Sam looks angry. Confused and angry. He turns away from me, leaving my bedroom and heading for my front door.

“Sam?” I say, swinging my legs out of bed and holding my sheet to my body. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

I flinch as he snaps the lock shut, forcibly drawing the chain across the door. He’s even angrier now, eyes burning with betrayal as he opens his mouth.

“I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

He stalks back to me, backing me into the doorframe before he grabs my arm and shoves me into my room. I’m frozen, standing where he left me, fear and adrenaline coursing through my body as he pulls clothes from my dresser. I catch them, hurrying to dress myself when he tells me to.

“Sam-”

Before I can ask again what’s going on I’m being pulled into my living room, pushed into a chair, and, oh my god, is that rope in his hands? I start fighting in earnest now, instinct telling me to run as far and as fast as I can. He’s faster than me, and much stronger, and before I know it he has one wrist tied down. He draws a gun from his back pocket when he finishes and moves to stand in front of me.

“Dean just called. Said you’re the monster we’re hunting, Madison. You’re the werewolf,” Sam spits.

I eye him warily, stunned, trying to control my breathing despite what he’s just said. This isn’t the same man from yesterday. He’s insane. He must be. Who believes in that stuff? Really believes? On top of that, who pretends to be a police officer, investigating a real murder like he’s hunting monsters? I’m scared, but more than that, I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m 0 and 2, apparently. First Kurt, now Sam? Unreasonable, I realize, given the situation. But how could I have started to fall so easily for a fake badge and a charming smile.

“You’re psychotic. The whole ‘I’m a cop’ trick, God, I’m so stupid.” I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes.

He clenches his jaw. “Well, I guess neither of us are who we said we were, huh?” His arms are crossed, holding the gun casually, reminding me it’s there and that he’s willing to use it. As if I could forget.

“Sam, you’re sick, okay? You’re imagining things. Monsters don’t exist, not really!”

“You know what? Save the act,” he replies, leaning forward to glare at me. He’s angry with himself too, I can tell.

The tears are really coming on now, choking me as I reply. “It’s not an act! I am not a werewolf, there is no such thing! It’s made up, all right?” I’m yelling. “They’re not real, you know they’re not real!”

That only makes him angrier, and I see him start yelling at me, gesturing to my cut arm, and I hear myself replying but all I can think is, “God, please. This isn’t how I die, arguing with a crazy person, tied helpless to my own dining room chair. He needs help. He needs help, he needs help, he needs help. Please. I’m not what you think I am. I’m not.”

I’m broken from my thoughts by three hard knocks on my door. Sam seems to have been expecting it, though, and crosses the room to open the door for his partner. Dean breezes in, drawing his gun and making a comment about his head. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t seem to care. Another tear slips loose as I see Sam whisper in Dean’s ear. After a glance back at me they leave the room.

I stare at the kitchen opening, nauseous with fear, before I realize...they’ve left me in here alone. They can’t expect I’ll make it out, or far if I do make it out, but that sure as hell isn’t going to stop me from trying. “Focus, Maddie,” I think. I begin twisting my wrists, desperate to loosen the surgically precise knots Sam has tied me down with. I sob quietly when I realize he didn’t cut corners. When I realize he really believes I’m a monster he has to put down. I glance back at the kitchen when I hear raised voices. They’re arguing, which means I don’t have much more time. I twist my wrist once more, managing to stop when Sam abruptly pulls the door open and walks toward me.

If I’m going to die, I’m not going to die crying. I will go down fighting if it comes to it, so I stare defiantly back at Sam.

“Madison. When were you mugged?” he asks. I stare. Like hell I’m going to help him find a reason to end my life. “Please. It’s important, just answer the question.”

He’s still holding the gun. Shit.

I swallow. “About a month ago.”

“Did you see the guy?”

“No...he grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he bite you?” I pause, mouth parting in shock.

“How did you know that?” Incredulous, I gaze up at him. When he asks, I point him to the back of my neck where a still healing half-moon bite sits. I wait, terrified, for Sam to drop my hair back into place, his eyes communicating with Dean before he jerks his head toward my kitchen door. Heart pounding, I watch them leave. I don’t understand what’s happening. They can’t possibly think a random mugging means I’m a werewolf.

I can hear them, barely, not able to make out words, but Sam sounds frantic, and Dean, well. Dean sounds pissed.

“I’ll shoot her, all right?!” I hear Sam say. Oh God. Please. Please, please, please, just let me go.

A few more seconds and the door bursts open again. Dean stalks past and out of the house, sparing me an accusing glare as he goes and cutting off the sound of my sob. Begging is all I can do now. I don’t know what else to do.

Sam kneels in front of me, face lighting with grief this time, instead of anger. “Please,” I say. “Look…” he whispers. “I know you’re scared. I also know there’s no way in hell you’re gonna believe me. But I’m doing this because I’m trying to help you.”

I can see the end now, tears pouring down my face. My eyes flick from his face to the gun in his hand, waiting for it to raise and press against me. This is how I die. “I’m not gonna lie, all right, the odds aren’t exactly in our favor. But if this goes the way I pray it does, I’ll untie you, and I’ll walk out that door, and I’ll never come back. You’ll live the rest of your life, and I’ll just be a bad memory.”

I shut my eyes, confused, willing myself back to last week. When I was just a secretary in a legal office. When ex-boyfriends and overly affectionate bosses were all I had to worry about. Before rope tying me to a chair, or a gun pointed at me. Before dead bodies and werewolves and Sam.

\-------

_He’s behind you, deep in thought and not watching you like he told his partner he would. Distracted. He’s not ready for your nails to lengthen or for the cheap twine to break so easily, letting you rip your arms from the chair where he’s tied them, jump up and toward him. One swipe and he’s on the ground, the smell of his blood permeating the air around him. He surprises you though, regaining his feet and turning, weapon already drawn. He’s scared, but you know he isn’t going to back down. You’re snarling, angrily stalking toward him. How dare he restrain you. How dare he think he can hold you down._

_He’s close now, won’t be able to dodge you from the corner you’ve backed him into. One more step and you’ll kill him. You reach out, swiping your claws at his throat. He turns, swinging a closet door open and you hit a wall, missing him completely, surprise overtaking you before all light vanishes with your only opening. He’s kicking the edge of a lamp against the door jam, dragging furniture to keep you contained. You howl in fury, swiping at the wood and sprinkling yourself with shredded pieces of the wall._

_He’s robbing you of another chance, and you know you’ve got to get out. Nails throbbing, you tear at your cage…_

\-------

The light is sudden and sharp as it hits my face. I feel disconcerted and uncomfortable, with vague pangs of irritation that ebb away as I assume I must be waking up from a bad night’s sleep. Hearing a husky throat clear, I’m flooded with images of yesterday and Sam, delusional Sam and Dean, reminding me that the nightmare is real. I don’t remember him letting me out of the chair, I don’t remember falling asleep, I don’t remember last night at all. The fear returns with brute force and my eyes open as I sit up, panic settling back in. I’m on the floor of my closet. How did I get here? I don’t remember anything, what did they do to me?

Sam is standing in the doorway again, the light streaming from behind him and keeping his face in shadow, and I’m reminded of yesterday when I woke to such a similar sight. His tall figure standing stiffly at position. I remember how I had instantly felt such relief to see him there, how it had melted away so quickly and he became someone different, someone to fear.

I rush to my feet and the light hits his face as I stand—he seems softer, more like the Sam I thought I had been getting to know, his body angled as if reassuring me that he isn’t trying to block my way out. I wobble a bit, still disoriented. How did I end up on my closet floor?

“It’s over now,” he says, cutting the silence. My breath catches as I notice the spots of blood on the collar of his white t-shirt, the four sharp gashes just above his cheekbone. “You’ll never see me again.” The look in his eyes catches me off guard, as if he’s waiting for me to realize something he wishes weren’t true.

As my eyes falter from his gaze they catch on the wood of the door frame he’s standing next to.

Deep chunks are gouged out, scattering the floor below. My eyes sweep the room as I see the damage continue around each wall, stretching up as far as I can reach, erratic scratches in the paint and wallpaper. Claw marks.

As soon as I think the words I’m caught short. As if torn apart by giant claws.

The world I know fractures and I’m realizing he was telling the truth all along. He isn’t crazy, this world is more than we know and see, it’s all the dark stuff we didn’t think existed. I’m a monster, I’m a killer, I’m a werewolf. What does that even mean? A new fear replaces the last and I fling around to face Sam in the doorway, seeking answers, but he’s gone.

“You’ll never see me again,” he had said.

\-------

I’m glad they’re here with me now, Sam and Dean. It’s almost laughable to think about the difference between yesterday and today. I think about the week I’ve had, how the fear and confusion of finding Nate’s body had seemed so overwhelming, and how it was nothing compared to what I was experiencing when Sam walked out of my apartment this morning.

“You know, for a stakeout your car’s pretty conspicuous.”

That’s what I had said when I looked out my window to see they were still there, keeping an eye on me. Pretty calm, I like to think. I didn’t show any of the mindless panic I’d been feeling since he left, any of the anger or horror or blind confusion I had felt all morning as the revelation of an entire world suddenly changed the life I’d had before.

They were there to make sure I didn’t turn again tonight. I invited them in so we could wait it out together but really what I needed were answers. Sam could see that, when I said I knew he had been telling the truth the whole time. He could see in my eyes the turbulence going on inside my head as I became someone, something, I had never even known existed. He has been answering my questions all day, the ones I’m brave enough to ask, the ones I think I can handle the answers to.

They said they’d had a plan. That some other creature had turned me into what I am, but that they had killed him, and I shouldn’t be dangerous anymore. Tonight is a test. If I can make it through the moonrise without turning, they’ll know they’ve cured me. I don’t know what to believe. This wasn’t even real until all of fifteen hours ago, but Sam is here, giving me as much comfort as he can as he answers my questions.

The moon is in the sky now, though, and the conversation falters. Dean is sitting apart from us, but I see the gleam of his Colt in the growing moonlight. There’s nothing to do now but wait, and I’ve never felt so helpless.

\-------

“Does… Does this mean it worked?” I look at Sam, searching his face, anxious for his answer.

“Yeah, I think so.”

The wave of relief crashes over me, as if I’d been drowning and this is the first deep breath of fresh air I’ve had in twenty-four hours. I throw my arms around Sam’s neck with gratitude words couldn’t convey—I knew he would save me, I knew he could figure it out. How had I ever thought him delusional? I’m thanking him over and over, burying my face in his chest.

Dean’s throat clears and brings me out of my own head. I pull myself away from Sam and remember to thank Dean as well.

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a grin. “So I’m just gonna head back to the hotel, watch some pay-per-view or something…” He throws us one last smirking glance as he slides out my apartment door.

“That was smooth.” I meant to only think the words, but Sam laughed quietly and I realized I had said them out loud.

“Yeah, he means well,” he replies. I notice he won’t look me in the eye: suddenly he’s shy. I decide to cut the tension.

“You mean, he thinks you’re gonna get laid.” Already I can see him beginning to apologize. For his brother, for what happened to me, for tying me to a chair. I cut him off.

“Those are right up there with me scratching your face.” He saved my whole world, saved me from killing countless more innocent people, and he’s apologizing for it. It hits me just how hard he tries to hide his own emotions for my sake, how much he cares about me.

“I mean, there’s just no way we could go back, you know? To before it happened,” he replies.

I know what he means. I agree. After all we’ve been through, after he’s introduced me to a world I hadn’t dared dream existed, after discovering what I was before I even knew and ending it, after all of it.. There is just no way.

But then we lock eyes and suddenly, after a moment of raw intensity, there is a way.

\-------

_Your time is almost up. You won’t come alive, not like this, for nearly another month and you haven’t sated the bloodlust. You’ve already lost one night to the dark of that room, and another stuck human, awake and unable to change. The window looms close when you hear a rustling behind you. Defensively you turn, prepared to attack, but the face looking back at you is one you recognize. Somewhere inside, you know he isn’t a threat. He doesn’t deserve the death that waits in your claws, burning to be released._

_The night is cool as you leap out the window._

\-------

When I was with Kurt I imagined neighborhoods like the one I’m staring at now, pruned and perfect, like pictures from a magazine. I imagined we’d live in one someday, when I was comfortable in my career and away from Nate and his late night work suggestions. I didn’t imagine I’d wake up, mostly naked, splayed across someone’s front lawn though.

Sam and Dean said they fixed it, that this was over, but how else did I get here? I know what’s happened and that only makes it worse. I start to panic, breath raggedly sawing in and out. I don’t know where I am. Crouched on all fours, I heave. Each time this happened before, I killed someone. Why would this time be any different? I take a deep breath and heave again, feeling as though my muscles are working to force my insides out. Then one more time with feeling.

Across the street a gleaming flash of metal catches my eye. A pay phone. Thank God. I stand, running to the booth and hoping nobody has seen me. Another moment of blind panic in which I can’t remember the numbers, and then my fingers shakily stumble over the keypad. I sob when he answers.

“Sam?”

“Madison, where are you?” The panic in his voice almost matches my own.

“I don’t-I don’t know where I am.”

“Do you see any street signs?” Phone clutched in my hand, I look.

“Um-yeah. Yeah. Middle Point.”

“Okay, just hold on Maddie, we’re coming to get you. Just stay where you are.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else, but I nod anyway. Sam will fix this. I know Sam will fix this.

\-------

“I probably killed someone last night. Didn’t I?”

Back in my apartment, the gun resting on my kitchen table is the only thing I can manage to keep my eyes on. Trailing my fingers over the table wood, tracing nonsensical patterns, I listen to Sam and Dean breathe. They’re trying to break it to me gently.

I start to glance up but my eyes snag on my rounded and unpolished nails. Is there blood under them today?

“There’s no way to know yet,” Dean replies. He doesn’t mean that. He knows.

I look up, pleading, “Is there something else we can try to make it go away?”

Sam’s been quiet up until now but he rushes to reassure me.

“We’ll find something. I mean, there’s gotta be some answer, somewhere.” I don’t think I can trust him here. Sam’s eyes are rimmed in red. He won’t tell me the truth like Dean will.

“That’s not entirely true. Madison, you deserve to know. We’ve scoured every source. There’s just no cure.” Sam’s not looking at me anymore. “We could lock you up at night, but...you’d bust out, and some night you will, someone else dies...I’m sorry. I am.” Dean brings his hands up helplessly before dropping them back into his lap. He really does look sorry.

I knew it. I really did. Since waking up in that closet and seeing the nail furrows in my walls, I knew there wasn’t going to be some miracle cure that would leave me standing when this was all over. I knew this, and yet Dean’s quiet admission is opening up a pit in my chest, ice water dread rushing from my heart out to the rest of my body. My hands shake on the table and I close my eyes, blinking salty tear tracks down my cheeks.

“So, I guess that’s all there is to it, then,” I say. At this Sam whips around, angry once again.

“Stop it. Don’t talk like that.”

“Sam, I don’t wanna hurt anyone else. I don’t wanna hurt you!” I mean it, but there’s one more thing I need him to do. I stand, fingering the cold metal of Dean’s Colt before grasping the handle and bringing it to Sam. “I can’t do it myself. I need you to help me.”

“Madison, no.” His eyes are bright with tears as he watches mine fall.

“Sam…” I say, voice breaking. “I’m a monster. You tried. I know you tried. But this is all there is left. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it. I want it to be you.”

“...I can’t.” He doesn’t understand. He can’t ask me to keep living like this, resigning myself to a cage every night in the hope that I don’t kill another innocent person. I’m a monster. l’m a monster like he thought I was and I need to be put down.

“This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.” I lift the gun again, willing him to reach out his hand. He shakes his head, opening his mouth to tell me no when Dean steps up behind me, peeling my fingers from the cold metal. Warm tears drip onto my shirt as I watch Sam walk away, closing the kitchen door behind him. I turn to Dean, begging again for the only choice I can really make.

“Please, Dean. It has to be Sam. Please.”

“Maddie, he won’t, he-” Dean looks away, shaking his head and staring after Sam. “I’ll talk to him.”

\-------

I’m standing in my kitchen, eyes closed, clutching the counter edge with white knuckles when I realize it’s been only days since a rumbling Impala parked outside my building, since two unknown men knocked on my door and asked to speak to me. Days since I met Sam, since I attacked Dean and killed two people. How did I get here? How did this become my life? How am I standing here, waiting for a stranger I hardly know to kill me?

The pit is back, numbing my arms and legs, my heartbeat. I can’t feel my pulse, can’t hear the blood pounding in my ears, but I can still feel the briny tears falling from my eyes, coating my cheeks and neck. Sam has to be coming. He’s coming.

\-------

Sam glances back once more at Dean as he opens the door, drawing strength before he steps into the kitchen alongside me. His face is shiny wet, eyes red and screaming please no, please don’t make me. I know it’s selfish, that he doesn’t deserve this, but I can’t make myself do it alone, and I want to know that the man who’s killing me is doing it because I asked him to, because maybe he loves me.

Sam twitches the gun up, pointing vaguely in my direction, and I realize that oh God, this is happening. I jump forward to stop him, beg him to please, wait, God, I’m not ready, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but he raises the gun, more tears slicking his cheeks, whispering that he’s sorry. He draws the hammer back, pointing the gun first at my head before he remembers and lowers it to my heart. One hand outstretched, I sob. His finger twitches, eyes closing and arm shaking. It’s happening, but I’ve changed my mind.

“Sam, ple-”


End file.
